Queen of the Underworld
by Aguamenti
Summary: In her fractured state, when all that's left are ghosts of memories, he's become her universe. T for dark themes. Oneshot. LVGW


Queen of the Underworld

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Her beauty was the perfect compliment to the room, he thought as he watched her sleep. In a way, she was the perfect compliment to his empire.

He watched as her chest rose and fell regularly with each breath, her hair spread out over the emerald pillow like streams of blood. She was beautiful by herself, but she was made more beautiful by the stark contrast.

He supposed it was that way with them, too - now that he was returned to his former, glorious form, he was beautiful by himself. She was an accent, an ornamentation.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Tom," she whispered as her eyes focused.

His eyes flashed for just a moment at the mention of his old name before he replied. "My Lady."

She had flinched at being called that once. In fact, she thought she had once spat in his face for it, though she couldn't remember why. She couldn't remember much anymore; she had stopped trying.

She didn't flinch anymore, she just looked away. He gently turned her head back towards his with a chilly hand. She didn't resist.

"Arise," he told her, extending his hand to her. She took it without a pause and stood, her bare feet touching the stone floor as her white nightdress seemed to float around her.

Neither spoke as he led her to the large, gold-framed window and drew back the heavy green drapes. "Look, Ginevra," he told her, "look at what has become of the world that was once yours."

The palace courtyard, she saw, was lush and green, with a tiny brook bubbling just below her tower window. Yet the land beyond was parched, and the tiny village on that land looked even more so. She could see what she assumed to be people moving about there, looking like grey ants on a grey horizon. In the ashen sky above, the sun dared not show its face.

He had showed it to her before, she was sure of it. She thought she had cried once at the sight of it. It evoked no emotion in her now, just a cold resignation coming from somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

"Turn around, Ginevra," he commanded her, and she turned. "Look at what is around you now."

The room's ceiling was amazingly high, coming in at an angle and peaking in the center, where there was an enormous chandelier. The bed she had slept on looked as if it were made of emeralds, yet it was like silk to the touch. The stone walls were draped with the finest tapestries she'd ever seen. The stone made it all seem rather medieval, yet she'd never seen something more beautiful.

"There is more, if you would let me show it all to you," he told her, still grasping her small, warm hand in his large, cold one. "There is a throne, and a crown, and immortality itself awaiting you. I could have let you stay out there," he made a sweeping gesture towards the window, "but I did not. You were chosen to be my Lady, my Queen. I request yet again that you accept it all."

Her head ached. Images of something, of someone, of a life she lived before this one in the palace, swirled in her head, never staying long enough for her to sort them out. She wished she could remember why she feared him, why he had once disgusted her, but she could not. She couldn't even remember her own name, or his - but he called her Ginevra, so that must be who she was, and some base instinct had always told her that he was called Tom.

She found it foolish that, when he had obviously asked her many times, she had not accepted his offer. Was he not offering her the world?

She banished all images of some other life from her head as she curtsied for him. "You are most generous, my Lord. I am honored that you would choose me to reign alongside you."

He studied her face for just a moment, and she felt as if he were diving into her very soul - and then, as soon as that feeling came, it subsided.

"You please me, Ginevra," he told her with a small nod. "You shall recieve your reward. Come." He began to lead her to the door.

She had never been outside of her room before, for he had never permitted it. At first, she was disappointed. All she saw were more tapestries and stone walls on many long, winding hallways. There were no people there - only the occasional eerily familiar marble statue of people she was sure she had never met.

Finally, they reached a set of gigantic, ornate double-doors. He opened them, never letting go of her hand.

Suddenly, she was on the top of a large staircase in a room full of elegant-looking people. When they saw her walk in with him, they all hushed and turned to look.

She felt self-conscious all of a sudden. She was still in her bare feet and white nightdress, and -

"They are all below you now, Ginevra," he told her quietly. "It does not matter what they think."

She tried to keep that in mind as he slowly led her down the staircase. The people quickly parted and bowed as they walked together down the center of the room. It was then that she saw the thrones.

They were unlike anything she had ever seen, she was sure of it. They sat tall and regal, encrusted with the finest of every kind of gem that could be found. Sitting on them were two crowns - on the larger throne sat a traditional, pointed crown, and on the smaller, the loveliest tiara she had ever seen, made up entirely of rubies and emeralds.

She began to walk to it, but he stopped her. "Soon," he assured her. He then addressed the people in the room.

"My loyal followers," he began, "this day has been long in coming. Many of you wondered if it would come at all. You whispered among yourselves, you said I should just force the girl to join me and be done with it. Do not pretend that this is untrue," he told them coldly as the people began to murmur. "You thought that this lovely little child would never succumb to the Dark Lord. Well," he told them, as his mouth curled upward in the closest thing to a smile she'd ever seen on his face, "you were wrong. She has joined me now, and of her own will she will sit in the place I have prepared for her. Is this not a far greater victory than I would have had if I had forced her to join me?"

He then led her to a small table, with a chalice of crimson liquid and a long, jagged knife sitting on top of it. He let go of her hand, taking the knife. He then sliced his own right arm, emitting a tiny hiss as red liquid began to ooze from the cut. He held his arm over the chalice and let three scarlet drops fall into it. The red liquid already inside of the cup sizzled and then let out a puff of smoke in the form of a snake, writhing and letting out a small hiss before vanishing into the air. He then lifted the cup.

"Do you drink this of your own free will, accepting this goblet of immortality, and agreeing to rule beside me for all of your days?" he asked, extending the cup to her.

She took it withut question. "Yes," she replied.

"Then drink," he commanded her, and she lifted the chalice to her lips.

It burned terribly as it cascaded down her throat, and got worse when it hit her stomach. She collapsed to the floor, coughing and spluttering, before her world went black.

She dreamed of a house, not a palace, where there were people, so many people, and most of them looked like her. She had been happy there; she knew it instinctively.

Then she saw a boy, a boy who had messy black hair and bright green eyes. She knew that she had loved him once; she knew that instinctively, too. Then there was a big, red train, and she was chasing it, though she wasn't quite sure why.

She saw herself writing about the boy to a diary, a diary that could talk back. A diary named Tom. Tom was kind to her when no one else was. He listened no matter what.

Then, fear - fear of what, she didn't know - horrible fear, and a huge snake...and then, the boy. The boy she loved, the boy with green eyes, he saved her from it.

She missed Tom after that. She never was quite sure whether the boy had saved her from Tom, or merely saved her from herself. Whatever the reason, Tom was gone.

She saw a rush of images then - of faces, so many faces, looking back at her as if she should know who they were - and then there was a large field that she stood in. A battlefield, judging by the dead people piled all around her. There was the boy, and there was Tom...and then there was a flash of green, and then only Tom.

Then her eyes snapped open, and there he was, yet again, only this time not covered in blood, but addressing his subjects.

His head turned to her. "You only fainted for a few moments," he informed her. "It was to be expected."

He looked into her eyes, and once again she felt as if he were surveying her very soul. "You have seen your past," he said.

"Parts of it, my Lord," she replied.

"And you still stand with me?"

"Always, my Lord," she told him.

He turned to the people yet again. "You see? She has seen who she was, and she still chooses me. I have broken her fully. You shall no longer see her as who she was, but respect her for the lady she is." He extended a hand to her, and she took it and rose. He beckoned for a woman with long black hair to approach them, and she did, draping a royal robe of green and black over her white nightdress. He then led her to her throne and took her crown from it, placing it on her head.

"She is the Lady Voldemort," he said. The name, for some long-forgotten reason, sent chills coursing through her body. "She is my Persephone, my Queen."

He then turned to her and spoke softly. "You are not to speak of what you saw," he told her. "That is no longer who you are."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Sit, then," he told her simply. "You are their Queen, yet they do not respect you. Not yet. Prove them wrong."

She sat on the throne that had waited so long for her and wondered what could have possibly kept her refusing this for so long. For once, she knew exactly who she was, and she did not need to remember a thing to know it. She was Ginevra, Lady Voldemort and Queen of the Underworld.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated.


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